Laudator Temporis Acti

Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine, Part I, 1.1.67-68:

Returne with speed, time passeth swift away,
Our life is fraile, and we may die to day.

Id. 2.2.22-23:

This countrie swarmes with vile outragious men,
That live by rapine and by lawlesse spoile.

Id. 2.5.53-62:

Tamburlaine. Is it not passing brave to be a King,
And ride in triumph through Persepolis?
Techelles. O my Lord, tis sweet and full of pompe.
Usumcasane. To be a King, is halfe to be a God.
Theridamas. A God is not so glorious as a King:
I thinke the pleasure they enjoy in heaven
Can not compare with kingly joyes in earth.
To weare a Crowne enchac'd with pearle and golde,
Whose vertues carie with it life and death,
To aske, and have: commaund, and be obeied.

Id. 2.6.15-23:

What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to a manly shape,
Or of what mould or mettel he be made,
What star or state soever governe him,
Let us put on our meet incountring mindes,
And in detesting such a divelish Thiefe,
In love of honor and defence of right,
Be arm'd against the hate of such a foe,
Whether from earth, or hell, or heaven he grow.

Id. 2.7.18-29:

Nature that fram'd us of foure Elements,
Warring within our breasts for regiment,
Doth teach us all to have aspyring minds:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous Architecture of the world:
And measure every wandring plannets course:
Still climing after knowledge infinite,
And alwaies mooving as the restles Spheares,
Wils us to weare our selves and never rest,
Untill we reach the ripest fruit of all,
That perfect blisse and sole felicitie,
The sweet fruition of an earthly crowne.

Id. 5.1.466-470:

Millions of soules sit on the bankes of Styx,
Waiting the back returne of Charons boat,
Hell and Elisian swarme with ghosts of men,
That I have sent from sundry foughten fields,
To spread my fame through hell and up to heaven.